When There's No More room In Hell: A Zombie Novel

by Luke Duffy

  The SUVs looked like they had been driven through an abattoir. Smears of what looked to Marcus like grease and rotten chicken skin, covered the side of the vehicle in long streaks as the dead had attacked and been brushed aside by the heavy trucks. Thick dark smears of congealed and coagulated blood were splattered over the windows and doors. Around what was left of the cracked mirrors and door hinges, chunks of flesh and cloth were caught as they had been torn from their owners by the momentum.

  At the front, around the grill and engine bay and in the wheel arches was a tangled mess of hands and feet. Even a mangled head was caught between the wheel and the steering arm. Slivers of green, brown, and deep red putrefying meat covered the bumper and already the flies were starting to swarm.

  The stench hit Marcus, and without warning he projectile vomited all over the hood of his SUV, adding to the already stomach churning mix. He couldn’t control it; it came from his mouth and his nose and the more he tried to hold it in, the more violently it forced its way out. The whole content of his stomach was sprayed over the noxious soup of body parts and gore as his driver, Sini, sat watching from behind the wheel, cringing and grimacing with every new addition of gory artwork added to the surface of the hood.

  “Thank you, Marcus, and once you're finished, could you do a shit on the windshield for me please?” Sini was grinning, waving at him from inside. “It’s not quite disgusting enough for me yet.”

  Marcus couldn’t speak. He tried to look up as he staggered to the edge of the road with watering eyes and raised a thumb to Sini as another bout of dry-heaving shot through him making him convulse. It took him a couple of minutes to regain control of himself. Once composed, wiping strings of bile and snot from his face, he set about checking along the opposite side for damage. With no damage found, and an empty stomach, he climbed back into the passenger seat.

  Sini offered him a bar of chocolate.

  They were moving again and approaching another built-up area within a few minutes. A car screeched to a halt as it shot out from a side street and stopped just in time to avoid being hit side-on by Ian’s vehicle. The driver looked up in horror, expecting the machineguns to rattle and turn his car in to a perforated tea bag. If the turrets had been manned, no doubt Ian would have done so. As it was, the Iraqi behind the wheel of the civilian car thanked his lucky stars and reversed back allowing the rest of the call sign to pass.

  Stu watched in his rear view mirror as the car then followed in their wake, keeping its distance.

  “That vehicle is following us up, Marcus.”

  “No worries, Stu,” Marcus replied. “Just keep an eye on him and let me know if he looks like he's closing up.”

  The streets in that area seemed untouched by the chaos of the rest of the city. None of the buildings appeared to be damaged by fires and there was a lack of infected, or anyone else for that matter.

  Further along they ran into a makeshift barrier spanning the width of the road made from cars and concrete blocks that were known as T-Walls. In the narrow gap in between, Ian could see that rolls of barbed wire that blocked their route. Jim slowed to a halt and Ian began to speak into the radio but was cut short by the appearance of two men emerging from a building to the right.

  Ian’s eyes grew wide as he saw the Rocket Propelled Grenade Launchers that they carried, “RPG right!” he screamed into the handset and Jim slammed the SUV into reverse. The rest of the team followed suit, but Stu’s vehicle then halted.

  “RPG rear,” was heard over the radio.

  The civilian car that Ian had nearly T-boned had followed, stopped fifty metres back, and the driver had stepped into the street carrying a launcher of his own. There was nowhere for Marcus and his men to manoeuvre to and there was a split second pause as they expected the rockets to punch into them. Nothing happened.

  All three Iraqis were in perfect firing positions, yet they held their fire. They had caught the team off guard. The turrets were unmanned and everyone knew that if there was any movement to use the machineguns, the Iraqis could fire their armour piercing rockets into the three SUVs before they got their first rounds off.

  One stepped forward and lowered his launcher. He waved a hand to the other two, who then relaxed their grip, but kept them pointed in the direction of Marcus and his team.

  “We do not wish to fight you.” The accent was strong Arabic, but the English was near perfect. “But please, do not try to use your machineguns or we will have to fire. I want to speak with you.”

  Marcus spoke into his radio, “Lads, don’t make any move toward the turrets, but be ready to debus at the first sign of trouble. Ian, Jim and Sini take the two on the right. Stu, you and Yan take out the bloke to the rear. I'm gonna get out and see what this cunt wants.”

  Standing in the street, Marcus and the insurgent eyed each other with suspicion, like two gunslingers meeting for a quick draw to settle an argument. Marcus carried his M4 at his side with his finger along the trigger guard. The safety was off and it was ready to fire, but he kept it pointed to the ground to give a less aggressive appearance. He didn't want a re-enactment of the O.K Corral for the sake of a misinterpreted gesture.

  The Iraqi, a slim man who looked no older than twenty five, lowered his RPG and approached him. “I am Hussein, what is your name?”

  “I'm Marcus. If you're not intending on blowing us up, what is it you're after?” He was straight to the point and wasn't in the mood for pleasantries.

  Hussein smiled and cocked his head. “This used to be our area and we fought you Americans for many years to defend it. But now, it will soon belong to the demons like the rest of the city. They are the enemy now.”

  “I'm not American, I'm British and if you think that we will give you our vehicles, then I promise you, you'll be dead before the first rocket is fired and your boys will soon follow you to Paradise.”

  Hussein seemed cocky and smiled as though untroubled by the threat. “My friend, I told you, we do not wish to fight you, and we do not want your vehicles. We want to come with you. We have lost many men over the last weeks and we are all that's left. Those with families returned to their homes but many who stayed were killed on these streets. Anyone who was still alive fled two days ago. All the people who lived here have gone and there is no need for us to be here now.”

  Marcus began to laugh; part in relief and part astonishment. “Are you serious, why should we take you, and more to the point, how could we trust you? You and your lot have no doubt planted hundreds of IEDs aimed for the likes of me. For all I know, you could be responsible for the deaths of some of my friends.”

  “And you could be responsible for the deaths of some of my friends, Mr Marcus. This war has caused much suffering. But there is a new enemy now.” Hussein pointed down the street at two infected that had turned the corner and was heading in their direction. “Them!”

  Marcus turned just as the Iraqi to the rear of the call sign swapped his RPG for a rifle that he un-slung from his shoulder and fired a shot into the head of each approaching figure. They fell to the ground and didn't move.

  Marcus looked back to Hussein. “He's a good shot. You rag-heads normally can’t hit a barn door.”

  “I told you, Mr Marcus, we have been doing this for many years.”

  “Yeah, and no doubt looking forward to your seventy two virgins when you finally get slotted in the process?”

  “I'm not here to become a martyr and I didn't do this for religion; I did it for the money. For every attack we did, we were paid. The bigger and more successful the attack, the more we got. We are not much different from you, Mr Marcus. I am sure that you and your men are not here for the ‘War on Terror’ or because you want to make a difference.”

  Marcus couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on his face. “You know us pretty well, and where did you learn English?”

  “I studied it at school, and learnt from movies too. The best movies are American, so I needed to understand the language.”

 
Marcus nodded. He had met many Iraqis who spoke near perfect English just from movies and books. In many, even the American accent had rubbed off.

  He looked back at his team who sat in their vehicles watching him intently. Marcus knew that every one of them had their weapons in their hands just below the line of the windows and would spring from the vehicles in the blink of an eye, firing into the insurgents before they had time to react. He had manoeuvred himself into a position that gave him a side-on shot at the closest insurgent carrying an RPG, and with Hussein no more than a step away now, he could easily deal with him, leaving just the man to the rear. He didn't worry about him though. He knew that Stu and Yan would drop him in the blink of an eye.

  Marcus saw Hussein’s eyes shift to his left to check his disposition and, to Marcus’ amazement, Hussein placed his hands in his pockets and positioned himself to make it even easier for Marcus to deal with him and his men.

  “I'm no fool, Mr Marcus, and I am serious about wanting to come with you. You can trust us and you can even take our RPGs. I only ask that you allow us to keep our Kalashnikovs.”

  Stu spoke over the net. “We’re starting to draw a crowd here lads.”

  They looked back down the street from where they had come. Scattered figures shuffled toward them. Some were running and the Iraqi to the rear of the call sign began firing accurately aimed shots into the heads of the lead infected as they approached to within fifty metres.

  Reaching for his radio, Marcus spoke, “These blokes are coming with us. They could be useful.”

  A torrent of curses and abuse flowed into his earpiece. He had expected it.

  “Everyone shut up. They're coming with us, no discussions. They're not fanatics and we can use the extra firepower and local knowledge.” He turned to Hussein. “You will travel one in each vehicle and tell your boys to hand over their launchers. You'll sit up front in the passenger seats and there’ll be someone behind you all the way with a gun, ready to blow your face through the windshield if we think for a moment that this is a stick-up.”

  Hussein smiled. “I understand, Mr Marcus. I promise you, my men just want to get away from here, as you do. We will help you in anything you need.”

  The barrier was moved from the road and the three Iraqis were split between the vehicles. They were searched for extra weapons and anything concealed before they were allowed in. Hussein sat in Marcus’ vehicle. Sini eyed him with a look of disdain. He sighed and shook his head then put the vehicle into gear.

  “I hope you're right about these fuckers, Marcus.” He turned to look at his commander.

  Hussein spoke, “He is right my friend. Our war is over now and the new one needs us to fight together.”

  Marcus looked from Hussein to Sini and nodded. “There you have it, Sini, and we’re all best mates now. But I’ll drop him like a bad habit if he tries anything.” He fixed Hussein with a stare and the look was returned.

  Hussein relaxed and nodded in understanding and agreement.

  Ian’s voice came through the radio. “That's us mobile.”

  The team rolled forward again.

  16

  “Sssssshhhhhh,” Amy turned to look at her younger brother with her index finger pressed to her lips. “You've got to be quiet, Robert, they're still out there and they'll hear you.”

  He was shifting from one foot to the other. “I'm bursting for a wee though,” he whispered through clenched teeth, wincing at the thought of having to hold it in for much longer.

  His brown wavy hair was standing on end from grime and grease. Neither of them had washed or changed clothes since the morning that they had left for school nearly two weeks prior.

  She looked at him and pulled away from the window. She crawled on her hands and knees and took his hand in hers. “Okay, follow me and don’t make any noise.” They crawled to the door of the classroom and into the corridor.

  Class photos and artwork covered the walls of the interior walkways of the school. Some very basic drawings in child friendly paint, of spiders and butterflies from the younger classes and others, more detailed, showing off the growing talent and ability of the older children in the school. Amy had more than one piece of her own work on the walls and her teachers considered her to be among the brightest and most talented of her year.

  They walked down the corridor, their footsteps echoing through the hallways and into the high ceilings that helped to carry the sound throughout the school. Even though the school was empty, there were no teachers or pupils and it was doubtful there ever would be again, Robert and Amy still insisted on using the childrens’ toilets.

  “Right, hurry up, Rob. I’ll wait here for you.”

  Amy leaned against the wall with her arms folded and glancing left and right along the corridor as she pushed herself forward from the wall with her foot and allowed her body weight to bring her back against it, bumping her shoulders against the hard painted plaster and then repeating the process by pushing off with her foot again.

  Robert had gone into the boys’ toilets and Amy would always continue to use the girls’. Even with no one to tell them what to do, they still followed the rules. A minute later, Robert came out wiping his hands on the back of his shorts.

  “I think there's only a bit of water left, Amy, and most of the toilets won’t flush anymore.”

  “I know. But it’s probably better that way really, because they would probably hear outside. Remember when you sneezed at the window? They nearly got in. The less noise we make the better.”

  Amy was ten years old and had always walked to school with her brother, who was two years younger than her. She took her older sister duties seriously and made sure that Robert never fell afoul of bullies or trouble. On a few occasions, she had even stepped in and found herself in a fight against another boy. Though only a skinny little girl, she was tough and knew exactly how to fight with her wits as well as fight dirty. She was fully aware that Robert was a typical boy and she felt that she needed to always be in the background to steer him right. Amy loved her brother, but he was always an ‘ungrateful pain in the neck’ as far as she was concerned.

  They had set out together as usual, having given ‘Mum’ a kiss goodbye at the door and began the fifteen minute walk to the school gates. They had been kept at home by their parents for the whole of the previous week. Mum and Dad had been scared of them catching the flu and as the reports of unrest and violence mounted, they had been kept close and safe at home.

  Over the weekend ‘Dad’ had become ill. Their Mother suspected the flu and spent the days caring for him while he lay in bed with fever. She had decided that it would be best to have the children out of the way and that they had missed enough school and their education was suffering needlessly.

  Amy was glad to be going back, and along the way she and Robert had talked as though it were just another normal school day. They arrived at the main doors and, even though they were open, no one was around. They made their way to their respective classrooms and sat and waited for the other pupils and teachers to arrive, but after a while, Amy realised that something was wrong and that no one was coming.

  She fetched Robert and decided that they should head home. On arriving at the end of their street, they were greeted with a scene of chaos. People were running in panic to and from their cars loading cases, boxes and family members and fleeing with screeching tyres down the road.

  Screaming could be heard from some houses and sirens blurred from the next street.

  She gripped Robert’s arm and they hurried home. The door was open and the front window was smashed. She called for her Mother and checked the whole house. Even Dad was gone.

  A pool of blood in the living room by the broken glass of the bay window filled her with a feeling of dread. She choked back the tears she felt welling up as she composed herself enough to stop the fear from spreading to Robert, and set about writing a note to her parents, informing them where to find them.

  Without anywhere else to go, A
my decided that they should go back to the school and wait for either their parents, or the teachers to arrive. All she knew was that they should get away from their street.

  Back at the school she noticed that the reception doors weren’t just open, as she had thought earlier, but they were actually smashed off the hinges. Something reddish brown was smeared along the walls of the reception area, and what was left of one of the doors had a dark, dried stain that took up a large part of the carpet in the centre of the room.

  They walked through the inner doors that led into the main part of the school, and Amy grabbed a chair from a nearby classroom and used it to step on and reach the bolt locks at the top.

  Robert asked, “Where is everyone? Where’s Mum and Dad? Our street didn't look like that this morning when we came to school. Do you think the nasty people that Dad told us about have been there and went to our house?”

  Amy was beginning to cry. She had held it back for the whole time, but now the thoughts of being stranded and away from her parents made her feel vulnerable and alone.

  “I don’t know, Rob. Dad was ill, so he should’ve still been in bed, like he was when we left, but he wasn’t and I don’t know where Mum could be. Maybe they ran away?”

  “Would they run away without us? Do you think they'll come to pick us up when the bell goes?”

  “I don’t think the bell will ring today, Rob. No one else is here, and I think that was blood on the walls and floor at reception.”

  Robert glanced back down the corridor toward the doors, then back to Amy with a look of concern on his face. “Can we go to the canteen then, Amy? I don’t want to be here, near the doors. They scare me.”

  “Me too, c’mon, we’ll go to the canteen then.”

  It had been thirteen days since they had last seen their parents or home and they had been living and sleeping in the school ever since. On the second day, a car pulled into the car park but pulled away before they could get to a window to shout for help. When they did call for help, strange people turned up. Some ran and some seemed to walk in funny ways, slow and staggering. Amy assumed that they were the nasty people who had messed up her house. They banged at the doors and windows, making strange noises, and Amy and Robert had decided to keep out of sight from then on.